by Raina Ash
“Back to work,” she mumbled and opened the first email demanding her attention.
✽✽✽
That evening, Allison ordered takeout and spent a half-hour scrubbing her cast-iron skillet. She microwaved some bacon, covered the pan with the bacon grease, and then put the pan in the oven for two hours. The need to re-season the skillet had nagged her all day. She couldn’t stop obsessing over it. With it finally in the oven roasting, she relaxed. At least, she tried to. She couldn’t settle into doing anything. She couldn’t concentrate enough to read. She couldn’t pick something to watch on Netflix, and she got bored after ten minutes of Bejeweled on her phone.
She flipped open her laptop and scrolled mindlessly through social media, something she rarely did. Since her job involved managing social media for her company’s clients, she avoided it in her personal life (though she had the obligatory profile on all the popular platforms). She hated the growing discrepancy between online age groups. People her age were on Facebook, the OG platform, while young people were using new apps that popped up every few months. More and more, she was feeling her age.
Five years ago, she was fluent with current trends and slang. Then she hit an age where the younger generation stopped making sense. Clothes, music, language. It felt wrong. Her youth was fading, replaced with younger, hotter bodies shaping a new society and future. The internet had blossomed with her generation; they were the digital pioneers. Now it was slowly being taken away and reshaped by fresh minds - the “digital natives.” She feared she’d start referring to things by saying, “Back in my day…”
Being in her thirties was like being lost in obscurity. Teenage years were about finding yourself. Your twenties were about finding a career and a solid relationship. Her thirties should be about starting a family and solidifying her place in the world. Though her career was solid, everything else in her life was underdeveloped. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be ninety and realize she forgot to look up from her computer screen and live (or remove her VR contacts, which she imagined would be mainstream by that time).
She sank into the bed next to her cat, Mocha, and balanced a laptop on her knees. Her Facebook newsfeed populated with positive posts from friends about kids and recipes and family vacations. One friend shared 14 photos of different crafts she’d completed over the past month. Allison watched a few funny videos about dog fails and created a new post so others would know she was still alive. She remembered an interesting trivia question she heard that week. After contemplation, she posted:
The Aztec word for “testicle” is “avocado.” Think about that next time you order avocado toast and take a bite.
“That will do for at least a month,” she said.
As she continued scrolling through the newsfeed, an article caught her eye. She knew it was clickbait. The title was too perfectly written to grab attention: Woman Writes Letter that Will Change Your Life FOREVER. She scrolled past it only to scroll back up and click. She was bored. The power of persuasion won.
The article was about a young woman in her twenties who had passed away from bone cancer. She wrote a heartfelt letter that she shared on the internet shortly before taking her last breath. The article detailed the woman's struggles, her battle with cancer, and the new appreciation she had for life’s simple things. Allison’s eyes filled with tears as she read. Towards the end, the woman wrote:
All I want is one more birthday. One more Christmas with my family. One more moment to laugh with friends and cuddle my dog and see the sunrise. I’ve had to accept my mortality at such a young age because I know my body won’t get better. I think about the times I felt frustrated at something small, like a bad haircut or having to wait in traffic. I think about when I was late and missed precious minutes with the people I love. I hope anyone who reads this will remember: life is not a guarantee. Do what makes you happy. Take every opportunity you can to experience life, to travel, to enjoy the company of others. I don’t want to die. With all of my heart and everything I have, I don’t want to die. I’ve pleaded and begged, but I am powerless. I know I will die. Soon. Remember, tell those you love exactly how much you love them. Spend your money on life experiences and not on materials things that mean nothing in the end. Fight to live your life, your way. I’d give anything to have one more day.
Allison closed the article trying to imagine facing death in her twenties. She had already lived eight years longer than that young woman, and she wasn’t confident she’d fully lived during that time. She worked and she obsessed over her relationship with Isaac. She’d tried to be his perfect match, to share his interests, to be the ideal girlfriend. All her hard work paid off when he proposed. She entertained the traditional vision of having babies and a house somewhere in the city. She didn’t even know if she wanted kids, but she imagined it anyway. When he told her he’d accepted a job offer in Italy and promptly broke off the engagement, she spent an entire year wallowing in the misery of her broken heart. She experimented with a few one-night stands, but they always left her feeling more alone.
She couldn’t think of much in her life she didn’t regret. Even her job seemed mediocre, though she enjoyed her field of work. She reflected more on the young woman’s letter. She grabbed Mocha and forced him to relax on her stomach while she lay on the bed.
“I appreciate you, kitty,” she said as he began to knead and purr.
Mocha’s loud purrs reverberated around her barely decorated one-bedroom apartment. She stroked his gray fur.
“I love you. I wish you could say that back. Do you love me?” She scratched his cheeks, and he closed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.
A few tears escaped the corners of her eyes. The emptiness in her apartment was overwhelming. Her place smelled like new furniture, not a home at all. If she wanted an adventurous life, she couldn’t do the same thing over and over. Work. Home. Repeat. She didn’t have to find the man of her dreams or lie about wanting to pop out babies, but she could do something. She could embrace the world. The young woman who died would’ve cherished eight more years of life. All Allison did was waste them.
She kissed Mocha on the forehead and put him back on the bed. Before she could change her mind, she grabbed her phone off the nightstand and texted Summer:
Okay, I’m in. Booking a flight to Africa.
Chapter Two
A LITTLE OVER A MONTH LATER, Allison boarded a flight to Casablanca with a return trip in two weeks. She couldn’t remember the last time she took such a long vacation. Probably never. Her boss (the owner of the company) was delighted to give her the time off but had politely suggested she was having a third-life crisis. She’d never asked for time off before. And Africa wasn’t a vacation destination at the top of most people’s lists.
“No,” Allison had said. “It’s a regular vacation.”
“Remember Jill? She still comes in once a month for anyone who needs to sit down and talk.” Her boss’s smile was a little hesitant. “You can talk about anything. Really anything.”
“Thanks. It’s still just a normal trip to relax and get away.”
Her department seemed to release a huge collective sigh upon hearing the news of her departure. She even caught a few of the copywriters hanging out in the lunchroom and taking an extended break. She imagined returning to a room of cubicles engulfed in flames. Or perhaps one of the graphic designers, who was rumored to be doing questionable things on his laptop, would accidentally load an offensive image onto a client’s Instagram page. If it was up longer than a minute, that was enough time for trolls to take screenshots and make it viral.
On the plane, she tied her brown hair in a bun and swallowed two sleeping pills to silence the doomsday thoughts running through her head. She tried to get excited about the interesting things she might do, but anxiety was eagerly eating up her attention. Not only was she worried about leaving her employees to their own devices, she was traveling to a country she’d never seen. And she was alone doing who-knows-what with a man she
never met. Summer told her that mystery was part of the journey and she’d get a verbal itinerary once she landed. She reminded herself that Summer wouldn’t send her somewhere if it’d put her in danger or be unpleasant. She leaned back as far as she could in her window seat and slept until the plane touched ground at the Casablanca Mohammed V International Airport.
The airport was a hub of activity, sights, and sounds. It surprised Allison to see that the airport was like any other: lots of open space, fluorescents lights stretching overhead, and counters as far as the eye could see. Orange walls and a green ceiling were the major differences. Most signs appeared to be in three languages: Arabic, English, and French. She felt strangely at home and embarrassed at her own expectations of how an African airport might appear.
She walked through the crowds of people to find her luggage. There were foreigners and many Moroccan people in a variety of clothing. Some Moroccans wore jeans and shirts while others wore traditional djellabas - long, loose, hooded garments with full sleeves. She dressed modestly in pants and a loose tunic, imagining all the women would be in traditional gowns with their hair covered. Her anxiety eased when she realized she wouldn’t stand out as much as she feared. After picking up her two bags that thankfully made the trip, she headed outside to meet Noah, the supposedly super attractive Australian tour guide. At least she knew that much.
It was pretty nuts to fly across the ocean without knowing more than “meet the tour guide at the entrance.” But there she was among the local and international travelers. To ease her worries, she researched Morocco before leaving and discovered that a fair amount of locals knew English and French. If someone didn’t speak English, her rusty but usable French from high school might help.
As she exited through the glass doors, luggage in tow, her own lack of enthusiasm disappointed her. She was on a (mostly) paid vacation ready to have an adventure (which she’d been dreaming about for years). This was her chance to create memories, live life, and escape the abyss of mind-numbing office work. Furthermore, she was single. She was free to flirt and tease and hook up with as many hot guys as she wanted, no strings attached. Maybe she’d take home a “flavor of the month” like Summer.
But her only emotions so far were anxiety about travel, worry about the office surviving without her (plus, how her trivia group would perform), and a heaping pile of apathy. The latter surprised her the most. It was possible that her relationship with Issac had burned her so much she couldn’t even feel sexual excitement anymore or find interest in meeting new people.
She shrugged her feelings away. She was already in Morocco and she’d make the best of it.
The afternoon sun was bright, so she squinted to take in her surroundings. Palm trees were everywhere - short ones, fat ones, tall ones. They seemed to be the only plant of choice for decorating. Travelers rushed by, cars came and went, and the air had a dusty smell which caused her to sneeze. She found a shady area off to the side where she could stand with her luggage. She waited.
The only description Summer provided of Noah was that he looked like “an Australian god.” Allison wasn’t sure who to picture except Chris Hemsworth, complete with a full Thor outfit. If Noah showed up looking like Thor, it would make the trip ten times better. And Allison, for sure, would throw herself at him.
After about ten minutes, she decided to walk around. She walked along the sidewalk and into a large plaza area, then back to her original spot. She took out her cell phone to check the signal, but it was as expected: nonexistent. Being completely off the grid was unsettling. She was used to her cell phone being her lifeline. Not using it gave her an overwhelming sense of loneliness. She couldn’t even text or call someone in an emergency.
Stay relaxed, she thought. Everything was fine. She needed to wait longer. He would come for her.
After a half hour of counting all the djellabas she saw, she took several deep breaths to calm her racing heart. No big deal. He was merely late. And if the trip turned out to be a bust, she could buy a plane ticket home, no problem. Calm breath, calm thoughts.
As she prepared mentally to go find a payphone to call the number Summer provided, a man tapped her on the shoulder.
“Excuse me. Ya happen to be Allison?” he said.
She turned around. Oh, that’s what an Australian god looks like. Summer’s description was spot on, despite lacking any identifiable physical features. The man was easily six feet tall with jeans that wrapped around strong, muscular thighs and firm, tight hips. His shirt hung loose so it was hard to tell if he had abs, but the rest of him was so perfectly sculpted, it’d be impossible for him not to have a six-pack. Maybe a ten pack (if that was a thing). Since he was a god, he could have as many packs as he wanted. Beard stubble lined the edges of his jaw, but not messy stubble - the kind that’s done on purpose and groomed. His eyes were a piercing blue. Sandy, light brown hair hung below his ears with part of it tied back (but not in a man bun...gods don’t wear man buns).
“Allison?” he said.
“Oh, yes, sorry.” She held out her hand. “I’m Allison. I’m glad you found me. I worried I was in the wrong place.”
He shook her hand and flashed a smile that’d make any woman melt. “You’re where yah need to be,” he said. “No worries. I’m Noah. Sorry I’m late. I’m rooted from drinkin’ last night, big mistake. I made a sign and all but saw ya there and figured I’d ask. Turns out I’m right.”
Allison smiled back. “Yes. So where to now? You’re the boss. I’ll do whatever you say.”
He smirked. “Always good tah know. Let’s shoot through. I’ll get a taxi and tell ya more about what’s on the agenda.”
Allison’s heart skipped a few beats as she waited for Mr. Sexy God Man to call a cab. Everything would be fine.
The 45-minute ride into the center of Casablanca was the most alive Allison felt in years. She and Noah flirted, laughed, and talked like they were old friends. She learned about his adventures backpacking across Ireland and what led him to become a travel guide. He’d once been a new tourist himself. He fell in love with the culture and landscape of the area and wanted a way to have new adventures. His passion was sharing knowledge and joy with other travelers.
His charm put Allison at ease. She sensed he was the kind of guy who seduced women and left broken hearts all around the world. Men who traveled were always like that - selfish. For once in her life that was exactly what she wanted. No strings. Just fun. She wouldn’t let her heart get broken. A flirty fling was what she needed to get back in the game so she could search for real love again.
During one point in their conversation, she touched his forearm and squeezed, heart racing. It was unfamiliar territory, something she hadn’t dared to do in years. Thankfully, he reciprocated and touched her hand.
“You’ve a warm soul, Allison,” he said. “Any mates tell ya that? More men need to appreciate a sheila like you.”
“People say I can be bossy.”
He laughed. “Well, good on ya. Nothing wrong with a sheila who manages her own.” He glanced at his watch. “We’re about fifteen away. Lemme tell ya the plan. I had so much fun talkin’ I lost track of time.”
“Sure,” she said, brushing a wisp of hair from her face. “We can learn more about each other later.”
He winked at her. “After ya get situated in your room, we’ll have din din with the group so ya can meet everyone. Today’s for taking it easy. Tomorra’s when the adventure begins.”
Allison cleared her throat. “The group?”
“Right, the rest of the tour group.”
Allison took a deep breath. Summer never mentioned a “group,” only hot, hot sex. “Oh, that sounds fun,” Allison said. “How many others?”
“Six. Seven including you. Eight with me. Eight total. It’s a small group this time.” He looked out the window.
Casablanca was surprisingly diverse. The flat landscape around the airport with various homes and other single-story buildings gave way to a bustling c
ity. She noticed many white, boxy structures that provided a strong contrast to the palm trees and red dirt.
“The others arrived yesterday,” Noah continued. “That’s why they’re at the hotel. We’ll all rest up tonight and explore Casablanca and its romance after brekky. We’ll visit the world’s largest mosque, have lunch, shop in the old medina, then din din around eight. Wednesday, we’re off to Marrakech on the train, stay in a riad, an experience you’ll defo enjoy. We’ll explore, shop, and do heaps of touristy stuff. Thursday we’ll shoot through to the Sahara, which’ll be a long drive. We’ll get ourselves some camels from me old cobber, Hasan. My camel tour is off the beaten path, so it’s quite an adventure. Spectacular views. It’ll be just the two of us as the rest’ll move on. We’ll spend a couple nights in the desert, then journey back to Marrakech and you can find Summer.” His eyes became dreamy for a moment. “I wonder what that sheila’s been up to. Been a long while since I seen her.”
A small pinch of jealousy squeezed her heart. Men were always lusting after Summer, despite her leaving them in the dust. “That all sounds great,” Allison said. “I look forward to our time together in the desert.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but the slowing cab caught their attention. “Here’s our stop,” Noah said. “Let’s grab your packs and head in.”
The hotel was a towering, white structure jutting from the landscape, the tallest building for miles. Across the street was a strip shopping center with shop after shop lining the sidewalk. It looked to be two blocks long. The façade in front was molded into small arches, one for each shop. She looked at the ground as she exited the taxi and noticed the sidewalk wasn’t cement - it was an intricate pattern of worn white and blue tiles.
She followed Noah into the upscale hotel lobby. Lots of shiny maroon, black, and off-white surfaces reflected light back at her. The style of the interior matched the city with lots of straight lines and boxy decor.